I was mopping my bathroom floor tonight. I wasn't doing it for myself. We have a showing for our home that I'm getting ready for. Heaven only knows I'm far too busy to actually mop my own floor for my enjoyment.
As I was mopping I caught a glint of glitter stuck in the grout of the tile floor. I remember where that glitter came from. Eliza, as an exploring 1-year old, came to show me a small snow globe she had discovered. Unfortunately, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the floor breaking and leaving water and glitter everywhere. I never managed to get all that glitter out. And there it was tonight, reminding me, of all those little moments I've had in this home the past several years.
Some things are so easy to document and remember. The first time we brought the boys to the house. The first time we brought brand new baby Eliza home. Then brand new baby Afton. I could go on but I won't. Tucked into the recesses and corners of my memory are the thousands and thousands of moments I can't place just by seeing glitter on the floor but they are there just the same.
Albeit those moments are so stereo-typical they are beautiful in their fleetingness. Giggles and laughing, faces and hands happily covered in a treat, successes and sorrows, slamming doors (good and bad), the quiet of moments spent devouring books, the content sounds of playing sometimes followed by the sounds of contention, the busy-ness and hum of this home. I saw it all in Afton's happy smile just this morning. Peace . . . familiarity . . . contentment.
However this will all change. I'm living in my house now for someone else. People I don't know who will have all their own experiences and memories here. People who will poke through my closets and cabinets. Wander my house. Inspect my walls and doors. I desire to detest these people. I'm not sure why. They won't take my life from me when they buy my home. Because in reality, it is just a house. Brick, mortar, wood, drywall, paint.
The funny thing is that's happening somewhere else right now in Minnesota. People living in a house now intended for me. Hard as it seems to me as I contemplate it, we will start over again, and make memories and it will once again feel like a home.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thursday, September 08, 2011
The Quest
Some things are hard to pinpoint when it all started; an inside joke or liking broccoli. It just happens and gradually it becomes an accepted part of life. That's how it is with Clark and his pursuit of making the perfect chocolate chip cookie. I can't recall at what point in our over 10 years of marriage this all began. When exactly did he even start making cookies? Or have the desire to perfect the cookie? Was it when they had cookie competitions for his chemical engineering socials (I know an oxymoron) in grad school? Was it before that? All I know, this may be widely known or hardly known at all but Clark has a quest to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie.
I can however recall when the quest become borderline obsessive. It was the summer after Eliza was born and we were visiting my parents in Minnesota. Clark, to pass the afternoon while I was probably out shopping, opted to make cookies with the kids. Good idea or bad idea, it's hard to say. I can say this though: those were the perfect chocolate chip cookies he has ever made. Seriously! And that my friends is when things went a little crazy.
We ate these cookies our whole 12 hour drive home . . . ok, maybe they didn't last that long. They were soft, but chewy and thick and just so good. We quickly downed the remaining batch and contemplated their delicious perfection for days after. Clark came home full of excitement to reproduce his creation. It didn't happen though. They failed - in his eyes.
He tried it all. Maybe he needed fresh baking powder. Name brand shortening. Shortening in sticks instead of the can. More flour. Less flour. Refrigerated. Not refrigerated. Special cookie sheets. With the kids' help. Without the kids' help. He turned out pan after pan of awesome cookies. However . . . it wasn't the perfect chocolate chip cookie.
Finally Clark came to me one evening with an excited gleam in his eye. "I've just discovered the secret to making the perfect chocolate chip cookie."
"What?" I queried.
"They need to be prepared and cooked in Minnesota," he causally informed me. "I think we need to move there."
As a dutiful spouse I took a breath trying to carefully consider this casually dropped bombshell and responded: "I want to support you in all your dreams and aspirations but isn't this a little crazy? Are you seriously telling me that you are considering uprooting our family to move across the country so you can make the perfect chocolate chip cookie?"
At this point, I must tell you, Clark is the silent type. Part of the reason I fell in love with him was his ability to communicate so much without saying anything. Quite possibly it could be that I talk too much he doesn't need to. After a moment of silence and Clark essentially saying nothing I said "Fine. Good luck getting a job."
"Well, I'm sure MickeyD's is hiring somewhere in the Twin Cities."
"Yeah, I don't think that will fly," I quipped.
Well, he did it. He found a job there. No, it isn't with a fast food joint but quite perfectly ironic it is with a food company. No, his employment will not be to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie. As Clark likes to jokingly say, he'll be "working with computers".
I for one, am slightly concerned that Clark may say to me in the near future: "You know Kim, the oven at your parent's house is probably a part of the equation for the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Why not save money and live with them?"
I probably would respond that he is welcome to visit them as much as possible they will only be about 45 minutes away. And their oven.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This above post in part or whole may or may not be a work of factual embellishment. I guess I'm trying to defend myself here; that I didn't threaten to rust his cookies sheets unless he moved me to Minnesota. This was all his doing, though I was supportive. I love Minnesota and I'm excited to head back to freeze-your-nose-hairs winters and beautiful falls and springs and awesomely not-hot summers. It also doesn't hurt that it is also the land of Target headquarters.
I can however recall when the quest become borderline obsessive. It was the summer after Eliza was born and we were visiting my parents in Minnesota. Clark, to pass the afternoon while I was probably out shopping, opted to make cookies with the kids. Good idea or bad idea, it's hard to say. I can say this though: those were the perfect chocolate chip cookies he has ever made. Seriously! And that my friends is when things went a little crazy.
We ate these cookies our whole 12 hour drive home . . . ok, maybe they didn't last that long. They were soft, but chewy and thick and just so good. We quickly downed the remaining batch and contemplated their delicious perfection for days after. Clark came home full of excitement to reproduce his creation. It didn't happen though. They failed - in his eyes.
He tried it all. Maybe he needed fresh baking powder. Name brand shortening. Shortening in sticks instead of the can. More flour. Less flour. Refrigerated. Not refrigerated. Special cookie sheets. With the kids' help. Without the kids' help. He turned out pan after pan of awesome cookies. However . . . it wasn't the perfect chocolate chip cookie.
Finally Clark came to me one evening with an excited gleam in his eye. "I've just discovered the secret to making the perfect chocolate chip cookie."
"What?" I queried.
"They need to be prepared and cooked in Minnesota," he causally informed me. "I think we need to move there."
As a dutiful spouse I took a breath trying to carefully consider this casually dropped bombshell and responded: "I want to support you in all your dreams and aspirations but isn't this a little crazy? Are you seriously telling me that you are considering uprooting our family to move across the country so you can make the perfect chocolate chip cookie?"
At this point, I must tell you, Clark is the silent type. Part of the reason I fell in love with him was his ability to communicate so much without saying anything. Quite possibly it could be that I talk too much he doesn't need to. After a moment of silence and Clark essentially saying nothing I said "Fine. Good luck getting a job."
"Well, I'm sure MickeyD's is hiring somewhere in the Twin Cities."
"Yeah, I don't think that will fly," I quipped.
Well, he did it. He found a job there. No, it isn't with a fast food joint but quite perfectly ironic it is with a food company. No, his employment will not be to make the perfect chocolate chip cookie. As Clark likes to jokingly say, he'll be "working with computers".
I for one, am slightly concerned that Clark may say to me in the near future: "You know Kim, the oven at your parent's house is probably a part of the equation for the perfect chocolate chip cookie. Why not save money and live with them?"
I probably would respond that he is welcome to visit them as much as possible they will only be about 45 minutes away. And their oven.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This above post in part or whole may or may not be a work of factual embellishment. I guess I'm trying to defend myself here; that I didn't threaten to rust his cookies sheets unless he moved me to Minnesota. This was all his doing, though I was supportive. I love Minnesota and I'm excited to head back to freeze-your-nose-hairs winters and beautiful falls and springs and awesomely not-hot summers. It also doesn't hurt that it is also the land of Target headquarters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)